Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps, Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvests reaps.
The fable runs that the gods mix our pains and pleasure in one cup, and thus mingle for us the adulterate immortality which we alone are permitted here to enjoy. Voluptuous raptures, could we prolong these at pleasure, would dissipate and dissolve us. A sip is the most that mortals are permitted from any goblet of delight.
Pleasure, that immortal essence, the beauteous bead sparkling in the cup, effervesces soon and subsides.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: